


The Camera Eye: Sinned Against and Sinning

by puss_nd_boots



Series: The Camera Eye [25]
Category: DIAURA, Lycaon (Band), SCREW (Band), the GazettE
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Flogging, M/M, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Prostate Massage, Sex Toys, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 00:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3671415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puss_nd_boots/pseuds/puss_nd_boots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of an ongoing porn industry AU series. Uruha gets an offer for him and some of his actors to work on the “Lust” entry in a mainstream Seven Deadly Sins film series. It seems like the fulfillment of a dream – so why does he feel things are not quite right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Camera Eye: Sinned Against and Sinning

**Author's Note:**

> Twentieth in The Camera Eye series. Links to previous installments can be found here. GazettE/SCREW characters belong to PS Company, Lycaon belongs to Vogue Entertainment and Diaura belongs to Ains. I own the story only.

It always seemed to Uruha that whenever chaos broke out in his happy little organization, it was always preceded by a “calm before the storm” period.

He should have known that things were going a bit too well at the moment. Saga and Jin had turned in their scripts for the first Yuuki and Yo-ka starring vehicles, and casting was in progress for them. Aoi and Kazuki’s new video was in editing, Nao was in the middle of doing the latest installment of the vampire series and the reality show graduates – Kouki and Ryoga – were off at a promotional event for their new video today. Yes, things were looking good.

He didn’t think much of it, then, when a call from his boss came through. “You’re not going to believe this one,” the boss said.

“Try me,” said Uruha. “I can believe a lot.”

“We just got a call from the office of Etienne St. Jacques. You do know who he is, don’t you?”

Oh, Uruha knew. Just because he was directing porn didn’t mean he didn’t keep in touch with the mainstream film world. “He’s the Seven Deadly Sins guy, right?” As in, an art-film-turned-art-tinged-mainstream director who was currently working on directing a series of films on that theme.

“Correct,” said the boss. “Now, as you know, he’s directed one film for six of the seven sins. On each one, he’s brought in experts to be his consultants. He’s got one sin left to go, and guess which one it is?”

Uruha tried to remember the other films in the series. Greed had been the first one, it had been a Wall Street drama which was a moderate mainstream hit and gained a couple of Oscar nominations. Gluttony was an indie-style film about an international cooking contest that had been a big hit at film festivals and snagged a trophy at Sundance. Pride was about showbiz and Envy the fashion industry; both of them had been successful with the “chick flick” crowd. Sloth was a stoner comedy and had become a cult hit among its intended audience.

Wrath had been the director’s jewel in the crown – a period piece about the Irish Republican Army, set in the ‘60s through the ‘80s, it had snagged a couple of Oscars, plus nominations for Best Director and Best Picture.

“The only sin he hasn’t filmed,” he said, “is Lust.”

“Bingo. Well, he’s decided to use consultants from the porn industry to help on this one. And somebody told him that nobody makes better gay porn than the Japanese.”

The boss’s words sank in, and Uruha blinked. “Us? He wants to use US as his consultants?”

“Not only that, he wants to use some of our actors in the film.”

“But . . . but there’s a language barrier! He’s French, he doesn’t speak Japanese! Okay, he may speak English, but our actors don’t speak that, either! I mean . . . have you HEARD Ruki try to speak English?”

“He’s going to speak to us tomorrow,” the boss said. “He’ll be over here at 10 with his interpreters.”

“Can’t we send him over to Hard Candy?” Uruha said.

“And let them get the prestige?” the boss said. “No, we’re going to at least hear him out. If his demands are unreasonable, we’ll send him packing. If what he says sounds good, though . . . it would be a feather in our cap. And think of the contacts he has in mainstream film, Uruha. Not just in Hollywood, all over the world.”

Uruha sighed. His boss knew damn well he wanted to be a mainstream film director – and it was a dream he’d never let go of, even though he was, admittedly, happy doing what he was doing.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll talk to him.”

“Excellent,” the boss said. “I’ll tell him it’s a go, then.”

Uruha hung up the phone and put his head in his hands. Great. Just great. Why did he have a sinking feeling this was going to turn into a big, fat “What did I just get us into?”

* * *

The director was, of course, fashionably late. Uruha wouldn’t have expected anything different from an arty type. He blew into the boss’ office like a hurricane, a rotund guy with a shock of shaggy salt-and-pepper hair, a bulbous nose and a sport jacket that looked like he’d slept in it. He held out his hand to shake, then pulled it back when he remembered he was expected to bow instead. He was flanked on either side by two Japanese men in severe suits – the interpreters, Uruha surmised.

He spouted off a long stream of French, accenting it with elaborate gestures of his hands, glancing around the room to take everything in. When he paused, the interpreter on his left said, “We are very pleased to be here, we have heard that you make very good and very successful porn here. We see that you have won awards.”

Uruha and his boss exchanged glances, and Uruha spoke. “We won Japan Adult Video Association awards the last two years. Best Picture, Best Director and Best Screenplay. Two of our actors also won awards.”

The right interpreter relayed Uruha’s words to the director. Uruha figured one was the “incoming” translator, the other was “outgoing.” When the director spoke again, he walked over to the awards to get a good look at them. In the middle of the speech, Uruha heard him said “A-O-I” – he knew those were the English letters that spelled out “Aoi.”

“Mr. St. Jacques said that he has heard of your great Japanese porn star A-O-I and he would like to have him appear in the film, along with the other great porn star Rucky.”

“Their names are Aoi and Ruki,” Uruha said.

“Mr. St. Jacques also would like to know who the two actors who won awards this year were.”

“They’re two younger actors – we work with them under a co-production deal with another company,” Uruha said. “They’re called Yo-ka and Yuuki.”

The message was relayed, and the director spoke again. “He said he would like to take them as well.”

“Take them? You’re not shopping for groceries, you’re casting actors!” Uruha said.

His boss put a hand on his arm. “Uruha, let me handle this. Mr. St. Jacques, it’s our policy that we don’t cast our actors, or let our actors get cast in anything else, against their will. It’s very important in this industry that everyone feel comfortable. Before we proceed any further, we need to talk to the actors.”

“And we also want a full description of the film and what parts they’d be playing, translated into Japanese,” Uruha said. “We also need a full description of the film before we agree to anything. We are very sensitive to how our industry gets portrayed in mainstream media.”

When the message was relayed, the French director looked thoughtful for a moment. He spoke at some length, and the interpreter said, “Mr. St. Jacques will gladly supply you with the summaries you seek. Only the film isn’t about the porn industry, per say. It is about the erotic journey of one woman around the world.”

“Is Mr. St. Jacques aware that we make gay porn here?” Uruha said. “That there are NO women involved?”

This made the director suddenly go into a long and expressive speech, sounding very passionate about what he was saying, waving his hands around. The interpreter said, “It is Mr. St. Jacques’ intention to make a film that is a rainbow of passion. All races, all genders, all sexualities. Your actors will be representing the beauty of male-male love.”

“Send over that summary,” Uruha said. “We’ll think about it, we’ll talk to our actors and we’ll get in touch with you.”

“I agree with Uruha,” said the boss.

The French director bowed. “If it is a summary you want, then a summary you shall have. Good day, gentlemen.”

Uruha watched the man and his interpreters leave. “He’s a blowhard,” he said.

“He seems sincere, though,” said the boss. “And he’ll at least treat Aoi with more respect than that action film crew did.”

“Don’t remind me of that one,” Uruha said with a shudder. “I really don’t know about this.”

“Just read the summary,” his boss said. “Give him a chance. The worst that can happen at this stage is we say no.”

Uruha nodded. He was right – it was still early in the process. They could still put the brakes on. He just had to make sure they applied the brakes before it became a runaway train.

* * *

The summary, Uruha thought, seemed legitimate enough. The central character was a young woman in the fashion industry – a secondary character in Envy. (Many of St. Jacques’ Deadly Sins films were interconnected – a minor character in one would be the lead in another). She journeyed to Paris, Tokyo and Milan on business, and at each stop had experiences that challenged her identity as a straitlaced, monogamous woman, until by the end of the film she was in a polyamourous relationship with a man and a woman, both bisexual, and open to other partners.

The notes also stated that St. Jacques was already consulting with an American director of mainstream porn for most of the film – Uruha and his crew would only be involved with the Tokyo segment, which dealt with the beauty of male-on-male sexuality.

Uruha was propped up in bed, iPad balanced on his knees, reading the description of the scenes in question to Kai. “She is in a nightclub when her eye is caught by two beautiful men on the other side of the room who seem to be flirting with each other. When they go off together, she follows them into a men’s room, sensing they’re not going to use it for its intended purpose. They go into a stall together, and she climbs up on a sink to look down and watch them have sex. Later, she spies another male couple making out on the dance floor. That night, she has a dream about a roomful of beautiful men having an orgy.”

Kai laughed. “He intends to get this into mainstream theaters? He’ll never do it. I’ve heard that in America, films with too much sex get slapped with an adults-only rating and can’t even be shown publibly.”

“It’s not without precedent,” Uruha said. “There’s been art films with explicit sex that got screened in theaters in recent years, like Nymphomaniac and Blue is the Warmest Color. But . . . those were _art_ films. I’m not sure that’s what he’s going for here. It sounds more like a big-budget, higher-prestige Emmanuelle film. You know, late-night-cable softcore.”

“Maybe he intends to just kick up controversy with the theatrical release and then make money on the DVD.” Kai sat on the bed beside his lover and put an arm around him. “Then he’ll REALLY be like the real porn industry.”

“I just don’t know about this guy,” Uruha said, dropping the iPad to the bed. “He seems almost TOO enthusiastic, you know? Like he’s in love with the whole idea of porn, of making some kind of big-budget sex film . . .”

“They said he immerses himself in each one of the films,” Kai said. “It’s not every director who can do a historical drama, plus a chick flick, plus a stoner comedy – and make them all seem authentic.”

“That’s another thing,” Uruha said. “I mean, I can see being versatile as a director. It’s a good thing to be. But he seems almost . . . TOO versatile.” He lay back on the bed, arms over his head. “Maybe I’m just paranoid about the mainstream after what Aoi went through on the Dice film.”

“Hey, you have the best instincts in the business.” Kai stretched out next to him, resting a hand on Uruha’s stomach. “And if those instincts tell you that this is a bad idea? I’m sure it’s a bad idea.”

“But I’m not sure yet,” Uruha said, turning toward his lover. “I need to see him in action – on the set. Then I’ll know for sure.” He smiled. “He wants the Suicide Boys in his film, did I tell you that? He asked for Yuuki and Yo-ka. Those two don’t even like doing corporate porn – what makes him think they’ll do his movie?”

“Well, being in a mainstream film with porno scenes is a pretty rebellious thing to do,” Kai said. “Who else did he ask for?”

“Aoi and Ruki – but he couldn’t pronounce their names. And if this guy knows so much about us, and the business, why didn’t he know that?”

Kai kissed Uruha. “Get some sleep, love,” he said. “Think about it more in the morning. Talk to the actors, see what they say. And remember – whatever you decide regarding this guy, I have your back.”

“I know,” Uruha said. He sat up, grabbed the iPad and put it on the nighttable. “Have you ever thought sometimes about a bunch of us striking out on our own? Breaking away from the boss and setting up our own production company? Reita and I have talked about it a little, but just as something in the far future.”

“You’re seriously thinking about that?” Kai said.

“Just toying with the idea a bit,” Uruha said. “Not saying I’ll actually do it.”

“Another porn company?” Kai said. “You’re not going to try going into mainstream film?”

Uruha looked at the wall. That was the dream that had never quite died – standing before a wall of Panavision cameras, calling the shots on a blockbuster, or a potential Oscar-winner.

“Maybe,” he said.

And that was when Uruha realized that he did have to go through with this. If things went well with Etienne St. Jacques, if he made a good impression on him, he was pretty much guaranteed an “in” to the mainstream film world. That is, if he really wanted it.

* * *

“A mainstream film?” Yuuki said as he and Yo-ka made their way down a busy street in Shibuya. They’d just come from the Eros offices, where they’d talked to their boss there about doing new videos under the Eros brand in addition to what they were doing with PSC.

“That’s what Uruha said,” Yo-ka replied, holding up his phone. “It’s a guy doing films about the Seven Deadly Sins, and apparently, he wants us to represent Lust.”

“That is the last thing in the world I ever thought I’d be asked to do,” Yuuki said. “I’m guessing they want us to fuck on camera and little else?”

“Well, it is a mainstream film,” Yo-ka said. “We should get to do at least something besides fuck.”

“Does this guy even know what we’re about?” Yuuki said. “What kind of stuff we do? What . . .” He suddenly stopped in front of the window of a pet store, where an adorable tabby cat was playing with a ball. “Oh, look, they have him on display again.” He bent over and tapped on the glass. “Hello, there, precious. Hello. I wish I could take you home, but we don’t have a big apartment yet . . .”

Yo-ka watched, heart sinking. They passed this store all the time, and every time, Yuuki looked to see if that particular cat was on display. They were looking at bigger apartments – but even with the increased money they were making from the PSC deal, they still were not quite ready to move.

He replied to Uruha’s message. “How much is this director willing to pay?” He’d be in the film even if Yuuki wouldn’t . . . to get him that cat.

After awhile, Yuuki stood up, sighing. “I guess we have to go, if we have to stop by PSC,” he said – but he glanced back at the cat as they walked away.

They rounded a corner and headed toward the PSC offices, passing a big furniture store that specialized in furniture on the funky side – when Yo-ka suddenly stopped. “It’s still here,” he said.

“The bed?” said Yuuki.

“Yes.” Yo-ka leaned over, peering into the window. “It’s gorgeous. I would so love to have that in our bedroom . . . when we have a bedroom.”

The bed in question had posts (perfect for attacking chains with handcuffs) on either side of a solid headboard (good for a suction cup dildo). It was king-sized (which could accommodate anyone they brought home for playtime). But most importantly, it looked plain cozy – the kind of thing you could curl up on with your lover and watch TV, or just snuggle.

As Yo-ka gazed at it, Yuuki pulled out his phone. Okay, it was a one-time sellout. But it was highly unlikely his usual target audience would see this film, right? And besides, Yo-ka really, really wanted that bed – and Yuuki wanted to be able to give it to him (plus the bigger apartment to house it in).

He typed to Uruha, “If we were to do this film, what would this guy pay?” If it was enough for a bigger apartment and the bed, he’d do it – even if Yo-ka wouldn’t.

It wasn’t selling his soul in this case. Just . . . leasing it a little. And the cause couldn’t be better.

* * *

“You’re not going to do it – are you?” Kazuki looked over at Aoi as his lover drove slowly through the usual crosstown Tokyo traffic.

“After what I went through with Dice?” Aoi said. “That’s not happening to me again.”

“What did this guy ask for, anyway?”

“It’s apparently some kind of scene in a club, which leads to an orgy. Guess this guy wants me for the orgy. I don’t blame him for wanting a superstar like me in his film, but I’m not getting that homophobic shit again.”

“Club scene?” Kazuki suddenly perked up. “Do you think he needs a deejay?”

“Eh?” Aoi said.

“If it’s a club scene, and they need someone to deejay on camera? I’ll do it. I’ll audition for it. I haven’t had any good deejay gigs in awhile – this can help me.”

Aoi smiled at him. “Being in videos with me isn’t enough for you?”

“Aoi! You know how much I still want a club of my own!” Indeed, Kazuki still held the dream of being a pro deejay, of maybe even having his own nightspot when his time in the porn industry was inevitably through.

“This guy is going to give you your own club?” Aoi said.

“You know what I mean!” Kazuki said. “It’s exposure. Exposure!”

“I’m a stripper and a porn star,” Aoi said. “I know about exposure.”

“Just . . . I’ll ask him, okay? I’ll ask him if I can audition for the deejay part.”

There was a pause. “You really want this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Kazuki said. “I do.”

They pulled into the parking lot of the building, and rode the elevator up to the floor. Aoi walked into the office, and straight up to Uruha’s desk.

“I’ll do this guy’s film,” he said. “But on one condition – he uses Kazuki as the deejay in the club scene. That’s non-negotiable – no ifs, ands or buts.”

“Aoi!” Kazuki said, eyes sparkling.

Uruha smiled to himself. “All right,” he said. “I’ll relay your demands to Mr. St. Jacques.” He’d already relayed the Suicide Boys’ salary requests – and when he’d reported the numbers to them, he’d gotten a reply of, “I’ll do it – but only for HIS sake” from each of them.

Well, that settled most of the actors, didn’t it? Uruha was pleasantly surprised. Now, all he had to do was find out this guy’s shooting schedule so he could arrange it around his own . . .

And, hopefully, shake this feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

* * *

The club scene was the first to be shot. Uruha stood in the back of the room, watching the crew – six times as many people as he usually worked with – hauling scenery into place. Huge, Panavision cameras – the kind Uruha dreamed of working with – were being pointed and focused. Etienne St. Jacques was at the other end of the room, peering at a bank of video monitors, having a conference with his assistant director.

Uruha was feeling a bit like a Little Leaguer hanging out in the Giants’ dugout. He was here as a consultant, to be sure – but so far, the director hadn’t done much consulting with him.

Reita, who’d been wandering around checking out what was going on, came up to him. “Think they’d notice if we stole those cameras?” he said.

“Just a little,” Uruha said. “I wonder just what he’s doing over there.”

“St. Jacques? Dunno, when I tried to get over there his assistants shoved me away. You might have better luck – you’ve been consulting with him, right?”

“Not really,” Uruha said. “All the meetings I had with him – he didn’t really ask any useful questions. Nothing about how we set up sex scenes, the best angles to shoot at, things like that. He just wanted to talk about . . . him. How he came up with the concepts for this film, how he worked with a handpicked writer, that sort of thing.”

“He met with the actors, though, didn’t he?” Reita said.

“Briefly,” said Uruha. “As in, he came into a meeting with them and looked them up and down like he was inspecting racehorses. Oh, and he was fascinated with Yuuki’s pink hair, for some reason. He said it made him look like a ‘rebel firebrand.’ I’m hoping that was just a bad translation.”

“How many of our guys got dragged into this thing, anyway?” Reita’s eyes followed a particularly huge boom mike as it was lowered over the set.

“Six,” said Uruha. “He asked for Ruki, Aoi, Yo-ka and Yuuki. Kazuki’s deejaying in the club scene and he got added in for the orgy, and when the director said he needed one more guy, I asked Byou.” He shook his head. “Orgies are difficult to film for experienced porn directors. This guy is never going to be able to handle it without extra help.”

“So? It’s why he hired you, right?”

“I don’t know if he wants me to help . . . or if he just wants me as window dressing. You know, give the illusion of the production having real ‘cred’ by having a two-time award-winning gay porn director as consultant.”

“Hey, be glad you’re giving people cred,” Reita said. “Some guys would kill for that.”

Etienne St. Jacques finished up with his assistant and began to make his way over to Uruha and Reita, translators in tow. He pointed around the room and spouted off a stream of French, which was translated as, “Mr. St. John says we will film the nightclub scene first – people dancing, making out, and the heroine seeing the pink-haired man and his partner giving each other the eye. Then . . . we will film the actual sex in the men’s room. It will be a glorious scene.”

Uruha knew how the scene went – Yuuki and Yo-ka getting it on in a men’s room stall, the heroine spying on them. “May I ask how it’s going to be filmed? Maybe I can offer advice . . .”

After the translator relayed Uruha’s words, the French director spoke with animated gestures, which got translated as, “Oh, I know full well how it will be filmed. Character viewpoint. Cameraman shooting the action from above. What the girl sees, the audience will see.”

Well, it wasn’t a bad idea – Uruha had used character viewpoint shots before for voyeurism scenes. “One camera? Or ones on the ground as well?”

“Just the one. We want authenticity. This is going to be passion – but artistic passion. Just you wait!”

“If you let me look at the set first, I can tell you how best to place the camera, and maybe you and I can have a talk with the actors . . .”

The older man waved his hand around as he answered, which got translated as. “No need, no need! Trust me, your actors will look glorious in this scene!”

“Mr. St. Jacques, with all due respect, filming a sex scene is a bit different than filming a bombing or a fashion show .”

“I understand,” the director said. “And if I need your advice, I’ll ask it. But I have a vision, you see? And I’m following through with that vision. Now, if you excuse me . . .” The translators bowed to Uruha and Reita, and they left.

Reita watched them go. “So much for you being a consultant,” he said.

“It’s all what I was afraid of,” Uruha said, rubbing his temples. “This guy knows nothing, and thinks he knows everything.”

“You offered to help,” Reita said.

“I guess I’ll just have to watch what’s going on, try to nudge this guy in the right direction – and look out for my people,” Uruha said.

His hunches of them having gotten into something not quite right were getting stronger. And Kai did say he had the best hunches in the business.

* * *

Hours later, Uruha felt like he’d gotten a real education in the other side of filmmaking. A rather thorough one.

Etienne St. Jacques spent a lot of time talking to his crew, moving cameras, looking at monitors, moving cameras some more, looking at the monitors again . . . then a discussion with his cameramen, then the soundman, then the cameramen again . . .

And when all that was done, it was time to shoot. And reshoot. And reshoot. He did something like 12 takes of his leading lady walking down the stairs and entering the club. He did even more of the scene where she watched Yo-ka and Yuuki flirting with each other from a distance . . . and then Yo-ka walked over to Yuuki and said something to him, dialogue the camera wouldn’t pick up. Well, okay, Uruha could understand that – there was a language barrier, the film was being made in English.

Still, he wondered why Etienne St. Jacques specifically wanted award-winning actors if they weren’t going to do anything more on camera than look pretty and fuck. Both of these men had done real acting in Datenshi Blue – their awards weren’t just for how good they looked and sounded when they had orgasms.

At least Kazuki got his on-camera time as a deejay. The director shot and shot him from about eight different angles, including closeups of him manipulating old-school “wheels of steel.” Still, Uruha couldn’t help but notice his star getting a little annoyed with having to do the same thing many more times than he had to with porn acting.

During breaks, his actors came up to where Uruha and Reita were sitting. “Having fun?” Uruha asked Yuuki and Yo-ka.

“I’ve never been so bored in my life,” Yuuki said. “Remind me to never sell out again.”

“I’m surprised you did it this time,” Uruha said.

“I told you – I have my reasons.”

“So do I.” Yo-ka put an arm around Yuuki. “We could see if there’s anything we can have fun with between takes. You know, stuff we could throw at each other, rolling chairs we could push around the room . . .”

Uruha smiled to himself. That kind of crackish activity was one of the most fun parts of working in porn – it was one reason why their fans liked the behind-the-scenes documentaries on PSC DVDs almost as much as the films themselves. “I don’t know if this guy likes that kind of thing.”

The director came up to the group. He spoke at length in French, and his translator said, “We will do one more scene of dancing in the nightclub, at the end of which we will film Natalia” – the main character – “following you to the bathroom. And then, the bathroom scene.”

They all knew what that meant – the sex. Yuuki and Yo-ka’s faces brightened. Finally, they’d be doing what they were used to.

“Mr. St. Jacques, if you have any questions before we do that shot . . .” Uruha said.

The French director frowned when the message was relayed to him. “I know I can ask you if I have questions,” he told Uruha. “But I told you – I have a vision for this in my head. I know how it’s going to go. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

Uruha was starting to feel annoyed, verging on pissed off. Just what was he here for, anyway?

* * *

By the time they got around to actually shooting the sex, everyone felt like they had been on the set 24 hours. Maybe they had. Uruha had stopped keeping track of time.

It was an actual men’s room, which had been scrubbed extra-clean for this, because the director didn’t want anything “dirty, gross and ugly” in the scene. Yuuki and Yo-ka would be fucking in an actual Western-toilet stall – fortunately bigger than most, the kind that were built to accommodate tourists.

Etienne St. Jacques was going through his usual routine, although he was using just one cameraman for this, with a handheld camera. He’d already filmed the actress climbing up on the sink and peering over the edge of the stall. He was pointing upward and looking at the cameraman.

Uruha turned to the interpreter. “Isn’t he going to bring in a ladder for the guy?” he said.

The interpreter shook his head. “Mr. St. Jacques wants total authenticity. The cameraman will be positioned just as Natalia is positioned in the film – on the sink, leaning over the top of the stall.”

“But . . . that’s dangerous, isn’t it?”

“You cannot argue with this man when he has a ‘vision,’” the interpreter said. “Believe me, I’ve seen it before.”

The director turned and said something to the two actors, and the interpreter said, “We will begin your scene in a few minutes. Just be ready to go when he gives you the signal.”

Uruha looked confused. “Mr. St Jacques, aren’t you going to give them instructions?”

The answer sounded rather annoyed, and the interpreter said, “Why should I? They know what to do. They’ve done it plenty of times before.”

Now Uruha crossed the line into full-blown pissed. This guy thought one sex scene was like all others? That all they had to do was fuck? Didn’t he know there were differences in tone, nuance, camera angles, the context of the scene in the whole video . . .

Well, dammit, if the great Etienne St.Jacques wasn’t going to do it, Uruha was going to take matters into his own hands.

When the Frenchman was talking to his sound man, Uruha walked over to his two actors, put a hand on each of their shoulders and leaned in close. They did the same.

“All right,” he said. “This is a quick rendezvous between two strangers – you can’t keep your hands off each other, there’s no time to wait to get to one of your apartments, or even a love hotel down the street. You have limited space to work with, as you can see, so keep your movements economical – small, but effective. Remember the camera angle – it’s going to be above you and slightly to the left. It’s important to let the camera see your facial expressions in a scene like this, so tip your heads back often – just be careful not to look directly at the camera. And remember that you don’t have to worry about cock shots or money shots – since this is a mainstream film, that’s going to be discouraged, anyway.”

“Can you direct the whole film?” Yo-ka said.

Uruha sighed. “If only,” he said.

Etienne St. Jacques was finished with his conversation, so Uruha backed off. “All right,” he said. “Places!” The word was said in English – Uruha understood it, and so did the actors.

They were going to be concealed in the booth for the actual filming. Uruha wouldn’t be able to see them – the action would be monitored exclusively by the bank of monitors by the bathroom door. Which, annoyingly, St. Jacques was blocking the view of.

“And . . . action!”

The door of the stall shut and locked. Uruha craned his neck to see what was on the monitors – which he couldn’t, just little glimpses. He could hear the sounds of passionate kissing, of heavy breathing . . . and it was a bit like being a baseball manager being forced to sit a game out while someone else coached his team.

He should be the one running this show, dammit.

All he could look at was the cameraman on the sink, leaning over to get the shot . . . leaning over a little more . . .

Leaning over too much, Uruha thought. His balance on the narrow sink was precarious as it was. If he kept on like that. . . 

He yelled “Look out!” as the man’s feet left the sink and flew up in the air. By that time, it was too late.

* * *

One moment, Yuuki and Yo-ka were pulling at each other’s clothes, kissing passionately, running their hands over each other’s bodies. They were getting into it. They were in the zone, in that wonderful headspace where you forgot you were being filmed (except the tiniest part of your brain which remembered where the camera was) and just got into what was happening with your partner . . .

Yo-ka suddenly became aware of something wrong. It was . . . a shadow. Yes, something darkening the light above them . . . and then Uruha shouting, and. . .

He looked up and saw the guy falling. His first instinct was to protect Yuuki. He pushed his lover to the floor and shielded him with his body, taking the impact full-force himself.

“Oh, my God!” Uruha shouted. “Is everyone all right?” He pulled on the door – it was locked. Of course it was locked, it was part of the scene. He saw the heap of bodies sprawled on the floor – would there be room to get to them?

He ran into the stall next door, got down on the floor (thank God it had been washed) and crawled under it. “Guys!” he said. “Can you move?” He reached up and unlatched the door, pushing it open. Crawling back to the first stall, he walked out the door and stood in front of the stall where the actors were, holding out his hands to help the cameraman to his feet.

The man staggered out, saying “I’m sorry” in French-accented English. He looked at his director and repeated the words in his own language.

Uruha went back into the stall and grabbed Yo-ka under the arms, hauling him to his feet. “Oh, no, he really hit you, didn’t he?” he said.

“I’ll be all right,” Yo-ka said, reaching down toward Yuuki. “More importantly, are you okay, baby?”

“You REALLY have to remind me to never sell out again,” Yuuki said, letting Yo-ka pull him into an embrace.

“What happened?” Yo-ka said, rubbing his side.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Uruha said.

“I’m fine,” said Yo-ka. “Really.”

He glanced out at the other two – St. Jacques seemed to be haranguing the cameraman. “What happened is this guy doesn’t care about his crew’s safety. If that were me filming this . . .”

St. Jacques came over to the actors and said something. The interpreter said, “We are going to break. We will resume this scene tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Uruha said. “But they’re supposed to be filming . . .”

“Yes, I know, well, we can’t do that until we do this, right? Call is at 7 a.m.” And the director stormed off.

Uruha watched him go, a fury rising up inside him. The cameraman just stood there, stunned. So did the interpreter.

One of the crew members walked into the bathroom and said something in French. “He’s asking if they should take down the equipment,” the interpreter said.

Take down the equipment? Were they asking HIM that? Or the cameraman? Did it matter? Uruha couldn’t believe how this had gone. If he was in charge of this . . .

Suddenly, inspiration struck. He had equipment. He had a crew. He had the ability to film this scene the way it should be filmed – since obviously, Etienne St. Jacques couldn’t do it.

He turned toward his actors. “Are you guys okay? Really okay?”

“A little sore, but yes,” Yuuki said.

“Same here,” said Yo-ka.

“Do you think you could film the scene . . .here and now?”

The two looked at each other. “Are you serious?” Yo-ka said.

“More serious than I’ve ever been about anything,” said Uruha. “He wants a decent sex scene for his film, he’s going to get it.” He picked up the fallen camera from the floor and tested it. Glancing at the monitors, he could see it seemed to still be in good working order. 

“Good thing they’re using one of the older models,” he said. “They’re tougher than the new ones.” He pulled out his phone. “Reita? You still somewhere in the vicinity of the movie set? Yes, the one we used earlier. Look, can you do me a favor? Can you come here and be my cameraman for a sex scene? I’ll explain why when you get here. Okay, good.”

“You’re seriously going to do this?” Yuuki said.

“When Mr. I-Am-So-Great gets here tomorrow, his sex scene will already be in the can,” Uruha said. “And then, maybe he’ll take me seriously and listen to me when it comes to filming the orgy.” He turned to the interpreter. “Tell the cameraman who fell he can go home for the evening – and have a couple of the staff find a ladder. A good, sturdy one. And find a couple of people who are willing to hold onto it while Reita is shooting.”

“All right, then.” The interpreter left.

Uruha walked over to his actors, put an arm around each and hugged them. “If you don’t feel up to it, you don’t have to,” he said.

“No, I want to do it,” Yo-ka said.

“Same here,” said Yuuki.

“Then go out to the club set and find a place to rest quietly until we’re ready for you,” said Uruha.

Outside the bathroom, a corpulent figure hiding in the shadows smiled broadly – the kind of smile that said, “Good, just as I planned it.” And then, he slunk out toward a back exit.

* * *

Yo-ka stood in front of the mirror in his and Yuuki’s small apartment, turning this way and that, looking at his naked torso in the mirror. “There’s definitely bruises there,” he said. “I’m going to have to wear body makeup for the orgy.”

“I think they look sexy,” Yuuki said, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist. “It might make people wonder if your character is kinky.”

They had a little more time to rest. Their 7 a.m. call had been canceled when the director was told Uruha had filmed the sex scene for him.

“If Uruha had been doing the scene from the beginning,” Yo-ka said, “I wouldn’t have these marks at all. Once he stepped in, it went off without a hitch.”

“Best scene we’ve filmed with him yet.” Yuuki walked back to their bedding and lay down. “Oh, the landlord of the new apartment called when you were in the shower.”

“We’re in?” Yo-ka said, hopefully.

“We can sign the lease next week,” Yuuki said. “After we’re done with this . . . thing.”

“I’m so glad.” Yo-ka lay next to him. “And as soon as we move in, we’re going to the pet shop.” He’d already talked the owner into taking a deposit for the cat in question, with the rest to be paid later.

“And the furniture store,” said Yuuki. “Our first night there is going to be spent testing the mattress of that bed.”

“I can’t wait to see you cuffed to those posts,” Yo-ka said, leaning in to kiss Yuuki, softly.

“We’re earning those things with this damn video, aren’t we?” said Yuuki.

“Film,” Yo-ka replied, reaching up to play with the other man’s pink tresses. “It’s a film, not a video.”

“I don’t care if they’re filming it on sheets of condoms,” Yuuki said. “It’s still annoying – especially with cameramen falling on you.”

“At least the next scene should be fun,” Yo-ka said. “Nothing but sex. You, me, Byou, Ruki, Aoi 

“This guy had better know what he’s doing,” Yuuki said, snuggling closer to his lover. “After yesterday? I have my doubts.”

“Uruha will be there,” Yo-ka said. “This guy will listen to him this time.”

“You think so?” said Yuuki.

“I know so. Just like I know you’re going to be the most gorgeous guy in the film.” He leaned over for another kiss. 

Yuuki pulled him closer, running his fingers lightly up Yo-ka’s torso. “Are you okay with having a fuck?” he said. “You know – after what happened?”

“I’m always okay for that with you,” Yo-ka said. “But yes.”

They kissed again, a long, lingering touch of lips, as Yuuki stripped his lover’s sweatpants off, then pulled away long enough to remove his own yukata. Yo-ka reached up to brush his fingers over the revealed skin.

“I can touch you all over today,” he said. “We don’t have any space constraints.”

“Then why don’t you?” Yuuki leaned in for another kiss.

“Like this?” Yo-ka ran a finger down Yuuki’s side, then up toward his chest, heading toward a nipple.

“Mmmm,” Yuuki murmured. “That’s nice, but . . .”

“More like this?” He rubbed the palm of his full hand up and down the other man’s stomach.

Yuuki let out a purr. “That’s better.”

“I love being able to look at you,” Yo-ka said, running both hands up his lover’s torso now. “You’re incredibly gorgeous.”

“Look all you want,” Yuuki said, arching up toward him. “But . . .you’re going to do more than look, right?”

Yo-ka got up off the futon – carefully – and headed for the closet, coming back with one of their toy boxes. “Maybe,” he said. The perks of their time spent working in a sex shop before full-fledged porn stardom – they got to keep the merchandise samples.

Yuuki sat up halfway, propping himself up on his elbows. “You’re going to get creative?” he said.

“What does this say?” Yo-ka opened the box and pulled out a silicone dildo, shaped much like a real human erection, with a suction cup at the bottom. He stuck it to the wall behind their futon.

“It says you want me to put on a show for you,” Yuuki said, running his fingers along his own torso.

“That’s right. Because you like doing that. You like having me watch you fuck yourself on these things.”

“Always,” Yuuki said, turning around so his ass was on full display for Yo-ka, leaning over.

“You’re even hungrier for it than I thought you were.” Yo-ka raised his hand and delivered a sharp smack. “You’re a dirty slut, you know that?”

“Yes,” Yuuki moaned. “I’m a dirty slut, I’m a little whore who can’t get enough.”

“And you’re willing to do anything, aren’t you?” Another sharp smack.

“Yes,” Yuuki murmured. “I need . . .”

“What is it?” Yo-ka grabbed a handful of the pink hair and pulled, just hard enough to cause a little pain. “Talk. Use that mouth for something other than sucking.”

“I need more discipline,” said Yuuki.

Yo-ka reached into the toy box again. He withdrew two items – a glass butt plug and a handle with leather straps attached. He reached for their lube, coating the plug and sliding it into Yuuki, slowly, while saying, “So you admit it. You admit you’re a bad, bad boy.”

“Yes,” Yuuki said, breathlessly.

“Then this is what you need?” Yo-ka began to trail the straps over Yuuki’s skin, softly and gently.

“Please!” Yuuki said, writhing over the feel of the leather caressing him, brushing his skin, rough and gentle at the same time.

“Say what you are,” Yo-ka said, pulling his arm back.

“I’m a slut!” Yuuki said. “I’m a nonstop whore.”

Yo-ka brought the flogger down on Yuuki’s ass, a sharp, vivid smack that made him writhe. “Again,” he said.

“I’m a cockslut who can never get enough. I need to be filled at both ends. I need a man to make me come.”

This resulted in the flogger coming down on the other side of his ass, then over his back, then on his bottom again. Yuuki writhed against the combination of the pain from the flogger and the pleasure from the butt plug, and the growing heat within him.

“That plug in you isn’t enough, is it?”

“No,” Yuuki panted, leaning back against him.

“Of course it isn’t.” Yo-ka put down the flogger and slid the plug out. “Because you can never get enough.” He took out another plug, bigger than the first, and began to gently slide it into him.

“No,” Yuuki moaned. “Never.”

Yo-ka picked up the flogger again and showed it to him. “Then you deserve more of this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Yuuki, arching back against him again.

Yo-ka brought the strands down over his left cheek, then his right, watching the skin take on a pink tone which made his own erection all the harder. He could sense the dangerous, delicious mix of pain and pleasure, how intense it must be for Yuuki.

And it was so pleasurable for him to deliver that pain, to hear the impact of the leather straps, see the way Yuuki’s body arched . . .

He dropped the flogger and grabbed the plug at the bottom, pushing it in and out of Yuuki’s bottom, Yuuki pushing back against it, his head tipped backward, letting out a long moan.

“I’m going to fill both your holes like you wanted,” Yo-ka said. “You’re going to fuck yourself on that toy, and you’re going to lean over and suck me.” He leaned over and tenderly kissed Yuuki’s ass, lips gently brushing flesh he had just been abusing, fingers tenderly stroking him. 

“Yes,” Yuuki said, moaning a little when Yo-ka pulled the plug out. He ran his fingers over his own body as he watched his lover pour lube on the silicone toy, working it bottom to top.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked Yuuki.

“So, so ready,” said Yuuki, crawling over toward the toy, giving Yo-ka another superb look at his bottom, at the marks of possession left by the flogger. He positioned himself, letting the tip of the dildo part his cheeks, pressing against his entrance.

“Do it,” Yo-ka said, and Yuuki pressed backward, impaling himself on the toy little by little. He closed his eyes, his face showing an expression of pure bliss, as if he were lost in some private haven. Yo-ka leaned over to kiss him, and their lips came together with passion, their tongues brushing against one another.

Yo-ka pulled back. “You’re incredibly beautiful,” he said, dropping out of the dom role for a moment – because he felt genuinely overwhelmed by the sight of the other man. His heart was swelling with emotions he usually wouldn’t easily admit to having – he was just so glad that this man was his lover.

He watched Yuuki begin to move up and down, thrusting on the dildo, moaning as it moved inside him, brushing against all sorts of nerve endings . . . and then, he leaned over, lips opening, tongue starting to run over Yo-ka’s hardness.

This was a bit trickier than if it were a guy being taken by two men – Yuuki had to do all the work, had to thrust onto the dildo, fuck himself on it, and suck Yo-ka at the same time. He was more than up to the challenge. He pushed his hips backward as his tongue slid over the head of Yo-ka’s cock, then down the shaft, then back up again.

Yuuki was moaning deep in his throat as he took the hardness in his mouth, sucking in a way that was all-pro – just enough pressure to make one think that he was going to slip over the barrier between pleasure and pain, creating a little thrill of danger, a pinch of spice.

He moved faster, his hips churning, his head starting to bob up and down, Yo-ka’s erection sliding through his lips – a very pretty sight, indeed. Yo-ka reached down, gently pulling the hair again, then running his nails down Yuuki’s back. He looked at his ass, at the pink silicone cock sliding in and out of him, at how hard, how eagerly Yuuki was fucking himself on it.

Yuuki was purring as he moved down further, taking as much cock in his mouth as he could, filling himself completely from both ends – and Yo-ka felt himself burning from within, as much from the sight of his lover, the very private porno show he was putting on for him, as from the feel of suction, of him being encased in heat and wetness . . .

Both men were breathing harder, their bodies drenched in sweat, trembling slightly, hurtling toward ecstasy together, it was just a matter of who went over the edge first . . . Yo-ka felt Yuuki brush his tongue just under the head on an outstroke, and it made the ecstasy break through his body almost violently. He pulled away from Yuuki so he could come all over his face, bathe all that beauty in the essence of passion . . .

Yuuki pulled back, leaning hard on the dildo, stroking his own cock, licking Yo-ka’s essence from his face . . . and it didn’t take long before he cried out as well, shouting Yo-ka’s name as the come poured from him, over his fingers, dripping to the futon.

They collapsed in each other’s arms onto the bedding, kissing, very nearly rolling over onto the flogger – and laughing, softly. “You really do love that toy box,” Yo-ka said.

“It’s not just the toys – it’s how they’re used,” Yuuki yawned. “You know how to use them.” Pause. “Too bad we couldn’t have filmed that.”

“In the kind of film this guy’s making?” Yo-ka said. “They’d see the flogger and immediately hit the censor button.” He kissed him. “I meant it when I said you were beautiful, you know.”

“Did you also mean it when you called me a dirty slut?” Yuuki said, opening an eye.

“Of course,” said Yo-ka, kissing him again.

“Good,” Yuuki said, yawning. “That’s why I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Yo-ka said.

They snuggled together on the futon, and Yo-ka thought, in a few more weeks, we’ll be doing this on our own bed, a real boxspring-and-mattress in a bigger apartment. Quite frankly, he couldn’t wait. It made every single moment of what they went through yesterday worth it.

* * *

Uruha was in his office with Reita, the two of them going over how the shooting schedules for the next few weeks – which had to be drastically rearranged in light of the mainstream film. He didn’t think much of it at first when his desk phone rang. Oh, it was a bit unusual – most people in the industry called or texted his cell – but not unheard of.

He did a double-take when he heard who was on the other end, however – and what they were saying.

“Uruha-san,” the voice said, “I’m an interpreter who works with B.B. Bixxx. Bixxx-san worked with Etienne St. Jacques on the American and European segments of the film – and I take it you are working on the Japanese segments?”

“Yes, I am,” Uruha said. Good God – he was being contacted by B.B. Bixxx? The fashion photographer turned porn filmmaker was pretty much at the top of the mainstream – that is, het/lesbian – side of the industry. It was roughly equivalent to a non-porn indie filmmaker being contacted by Martin Scorsese.

“Uruha-san, would you be able to have a conference call with Bixxx-san – say, around 9 a.m. your time tomorrow?”

“So soon?” Uruha said. “Some Japanese porn stars are just going to sleep around that hour.”

“Bixxx-san needs to speak with you as soon as possible. We can do it over Skype from your home if it is more convenient.”

“In that case, I would like to have my co-producer in on the conversation, if possible. And my significant other – he’s one of my actors. They’re both trustworthy.”

“That is fine,” the voice on the other end said. “Hold on, I will get the contact information to give you.”

When Uruha hung up, he looked thoughtful. Reita leaned over. “What’s up?”

“B.B. Bixxx needs to talk to me. Tomorrow, at 9 a.m.”

“Nine? But nobody around here is alive at . . .”

“I told him that. But he said it’s urgent – and it seems to be about Etienne St. Jacques. We’re supposed to shoot the other scene tomorrow afternoon, you know.”

“Wait, what does this guy know about . . .” And then, the light bulb went on. “Oh, he worked on the straight sex part of the film, didn’t he?”

“Bingo,” Uruha said. “Well, Kai always says I have the best instincts in the business. I didn’t feel good about this from the get-go. Looks like my instincts were right.” He looked over at Reita. “Think you can be up at 9 a.m. tomorrow, and I’ll include you in on this thing?”

“Can I go back to sleep afterward?”

“That’s why coffee vending machines were created.”

“I don’t think I’d be able to walk a straight line to find one at 9 a.m. Fine, I’ll be in on it.”

“Good,” Uruha said. And he was sure Kai would be up then as well. Hell, Kai would probably be the one getting him up.

He just wondered what he was going to find out. He hated when he was right sometimes.

* * *

The next morning, Kai and Uruha were sitting on their bed with a laptop in front of them. Uruha had Reita already in on the Skype group call, and he was just waiting for the guest of honor to arrive.

Sure enough, an American voice with a hint of a Boston accent came through the speakers. “Konnichiwa, Uruha-san.”

“Good morning, Bixxx-san,” Uruha replied in English – at least he knew that much in English.

The other director spoke in his native language, and then the interpreter Uruha had spoken with before said, “It’s actually evening here, but it is appreciated. Uruha-san, Bixxx-san asked for this call because he knows Mr. St. Jacques asked you to be a consultant for his film. Tell me, how have your experiences been so far?”

Uruha and Kai exchanged glances. Uruha took a deep breath and said, “Let’s just say it wasn’t quite how I expected being a consultant to be.”

He proceeded to relay the whole tale of what had happened so far – the French director talking about his actors as if they were merchandise to be bought and sold and looking them over like racehorses, the refusal to listen to Uruha’s advice, the disaster in the bathroom, and finally, the fact that Uruha ended up shooting the bathroom scene himself. He paused at regular intervals so the interpreter could relay his words.

There was a pause after he finished, and when Bixxx spoke again, it was with a weary tone of voice. The interpreter said, “Bixxx-san said it’s just as he feared. He’s doing the exact same thing again.”

“Again?” Uruha said.

The American spoke again, and the interpreter said, “St. Jacques-san asked Bixxx-san to be his consultant. He praised him to high heaven. He made him feel like he’d be a valuable part of his movie. And then, he didn’t listen to him at all. He’d loudly claim that he had a ‘vision.’”

Kai put a hand on Uruha’s shoulder as Bixxx spoke some more, and the interpreter said, “He treated the actors – especially the female ones – like cattle. One of Bixxx-san’s biggest stars almost ended up going to the hospital – careless equipment handling. And finally, Bixxx-san got so frustrated that he did the same thing as you – reshot St. Jacques-san’s work.”

“Oh, my God,” Uruha said. His hand covered Kai’s.

“Day after day, this went on, all over America and Europe. He’d start a scene, he wouldn’t listen to Bixxx-san and insist things go his way, things would go wrong and he’d storm off. Bixxx-san would film all the sex scenes himself. And that was St. Jacques’ plan all along. The ‘vision’ was just to convince Bixxx-san that he didn’t know what he was doing, so Bixxx-san would have no choice but to reshoot. Mind you, he did all the dialogue scenes with no problem – it was just the sex.”

“He’s . . . using us to direct the sex for him?” Uruha said. Oh, crap. He should have trusted his instincts.

When the American spoke, his voice was sad. Uruha almost didn’t want to hear the interpretation. He could feel his heart sinking down to his stomach already.

“It goes even beyond that,” the interpreter said. “It extends even to the other films in the Deadly Sins series. Bixxx-san started getting in touch with the other filmmakers he’d asked to be consultants, and what he found out was very enlightening. It seems the only films in the whole series Bixxx-san worked on himself were Greed, the Wall Street film; and Wrath, the Irish Republican Army film – and even then, he had a lot of help from an Irish filmmaker.”

“Tell me more,” Uruha said. “I need to know.”

He didn’t mind that the American spoke at length – he waited patiently for the interpretation. “Every film, he conned someone else into doing writing, or directing, or both of sequences dealing with things he wasn’t familiar with. On Gluttony, his consultant was a documentary filmmaker who’d done a film about an actual cooking competition. That person ended up filming all the kitchen scenes. For Pride and Envy, it was . . .” He named a very popular and prolific producer of female-centric medical and legal dramas. “She was so disgusted with his scripts that she had her own staff rewrite them from the bottom up.”

The American spoke again, and the interpreter added, “For Sloth, he worked with. . .” He named the writer/producer/principal voice actor of a popular adult-humor animated series, who had also directed a couple of live-action films. “Not only did his staff end up rewriting the whole script, he reshot a bunch of the scenes as well.”

“Did any of them get credit?” Reita said.

Bixxx sounded disgusted when he replied, and the interpreter said, “Not a word, other than a ‘special thanks’ in the end credit roll.”

“Why didn’t these people challenge him? Take him to court?” Kai said.

The interpreter relayed Kai’s question, and the reply came back, “Because St. Jacques-san has a very crafty entertainment lawyer as a cousin. The cousin has managed to beat all kind of plagiarism raps for various writers and musicians – even when the person was clearly guilty.”

“They could have gone on Twitter with it,” Uruha said.

Bixxx laughed ruefully, then spoke. “In America? That sort of thing is dismissed as so much jealous Hollywood whining,” the interpreter said.

Uruha looked down at the bed, digesting everything that was being said. “But . . . this is not America,” he said, softly. A plan was running through his head. Aloud, he said, “Thank you very much for this information, Bixxx-san. It’s going to make me think twice about the scene I’m supposed to do with him later today. And let me tell you what an honor it is to speak with you. I have long been an admirer of your work.”

The American director spoke, with a considerably warmer tone than before, and the interpreter said, “Likewise, Uruha-san. Bixxxworks” – the American’s distribution company, which put out works by both himself and other directors – “already has launched a gay sublabel, and we’re looking to include international works under that. I would be honored if we could license some of PSC Production’s videos for release overseas.”

“I’d be thrilled,” Uruha said, “but you’ll have to talk to my boss about that.” He had bigger fish to fry at the moment – in particular, a big, fat, French fish.

Bixxx spoke again, and the interpreter said, “I’d be glad to. Good day, Uruha-san.”

“Good day,” he said. As soon as Bixxx hung up, he put his head in his hands and said, “Fuck.”

“My God, that guy’s an even bigger scumbag than we thought he was,” Reita said.

“This is plagiarism,” Uruha said. “No, it’s worse than plagiarism. It’s manipulating other people to do your work. I don’t even think there’s a name for it.”

“Being a rat bastard, that’s the name for it,” said Reita.

“Reita, I want you to get in touch with the actors and cancel the call for this afternoon,” Uruha said. “No, wait, don’t completely cancel it – but tell them they’re going to come in a couple hours later. I’m going to deal with that bastard first. And I need to get hold of Sparxxx right away.”

“Sparkxxx?” said Reita. “Why?”

“Let’s just call it connections,” Uruha said. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? And thanks for getting up at the crack of dawn.”

Once Reita logged out, Kai hugged Uruha closely. “You must feel used as hell right now,” he said.

“Used, and cheated, and angry,” Uruha said. “And I should have said no at the get-go. I should have trusted my instincts.”

“Even you couldn’t have known it was quite this bad,” Kai said.

“I need a drink.” Uruha buried his face in Kai’s shoulder.

“It’s too early for that, love,” Kai said

“I need something, then.”

“Maybe this would help?” Kai leaned over and brought his lips to his lover’s.

It was like putting a match to a pile of oily rags. Uruha grabbed at Kai’s T-shirt, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. His hands started to roam his lover’s body, pushing the shirt up, trailing over his back.

Comfort sex? Oh, that would do very nicely.

Kai yanked off his shirt, tossing it on the floor, and Uruha ran his hands over his lover’s chest, letting his fingers trace muscles he’d come to know so well – and yet, they were still such an amazing turn-on to him. He leaned over, kissing his way over the flesh, rubbing his cheek against the nipple.

He just needed this contact, the feel of his lover’s skin against his own, the strength of Kai’s arms wrapped around him. He let his fingers trail over those arms, too, up to his shoulders, caressing his way up to his neck.

Uruha pulled away long enough to pull off his T-shirt and sweatpants, and Kai removed what he was still wearing, both of them eager to get every unwanted scrap of clothing out of the way. They wrapped their arms around one another, kissing hard as they fell back to the mattress again, shifting so that Uruha wrapped a leg around Kai’s hip, arching up against the other man.

“I love it when you’re eager like this,” Kai whispered, kissing up Uruha’s neck, letting his tongue sweep along his jawline. His hands moved along his lover’s body, caressing every bit of skin as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Uruha responded by reaching down and wrapping his fingers around Kai’s growing erection, starting to stroke it. Kai closed his eyes, leaning his head back, moaning as Uruha slid his fingers up to the head, circling it.

“You know how to touch me,” he murmured.

“Like this?” Uruha moved his fingers downward, pressing at the mound of flesh between his balls and his entrance, sending a quick shock of pleasure from Kai’s prostate. He gasped.

“Yes,” he said. “Like that . . .”

Uruha pressed again, loving the moans Kai let out, the way he closed his eyes, the blissful expression on his face. He was feeling very much in control of his own pleasure and his lover’s – replacing some of the personal power that had been stolen from him by that jerk.

Having a sudden inspiration, Uruha looked around for their bottle of lube. Grabbing it, he slicked a finger and began to push it into Kai, slowly.

“Uruha . . .” Kai murmured, parting his legs and raising his hips a little.

“Relax,” Uruha said. “You’re going to like this.”

He gently curved his finger and began to stroke, feeling around, searching for one special spot . . .

Kai’s sudden gasp told him that he’d found it. He curved his finger more and began to rub back and forth, a short and intense stroke designed to stimulate his prostate, but not overwhelm him with sensation all at once.

Uruha watched his lover’s face, the way his eyes fluttered closed, his lips opened with a soft moan. He was so utterly beautiful like this, so completely lost in sensation and bliss . . .

It was the kind of pleasure that could only be given by a lover in an intimate setting, too. Prostate massage wasn’t camera-worthy – unless you had a camera tightly focused on the man receiving the pleasure.

At this moment, Kai was putting on one hell of a show. He was writhing, moaning loudly, parting his legs and raising them. He brought a hand to his lips, closing his eyes tight as sweat poured all over him. When Uruha pushed a second finger in to join the first, Kai shuddered head to toe.

“Oh, God,” he moaned. “Oh, God, baby . . .”

Uruha pulled the fingers out for a moment, and Kai was suddenly still, his eyes opening in curiosity . . . until Uruha leaned over, bringing his lips to a nipple, sucking it, then tonguing it, the more subtle pleasure making the porn star purr.

The director enveloped his lover’s other nipple with his mouth, sucking hard, hearing Kai let out another small cry. Uruha’s cock was throbbing by now. He was going to need his own release pretty soon – feasting his eyes on Kai was becoming the most beautiful and exquisite kind of torture.

Uruha pushed his fingers in again, moving faster this time, intent on opening Kai up. He spread the fingers gently, as Kai moaned his lover’s name.

“Do it,” Kai murmured. “I want to feel you in me.”

Uruha reached for the baby wipes they kept at the side of the bed, wiping the fingers off quickly, then preparing himself. He positioned himself on top of the other man, bringing his lips to Kai’s.

“Ready?”

“God, yes.”

Uruha pushed forward, starting to fill Kai bit by bit. Oh, he felt exquisite. Uruha didn’t get to experience this pleasure all that often – usually, when they made love, Kai was the one doing the penetrating. It just made their occasions of role reversal – like this one – all the sweeter.

He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of tight heat surrounding him, seeming to caress him. As he paused, he felt Kai raise his hips higher, spreading his legs more.

“Okay,” Kai said, and Uruha began to thrust, gently and slowly, losing himself even more in the heat of his lover. He could do this all night, all day, for the rest of his life.

Kai’s fingers gripped Uruha’s hips as he sped up even more, thrusting harder and deeper, and Kai let out a loud moan as one thrust hit his already-sensitive prostate. They looked into each other’s eyes, lost in each other and the moment, their heavy, ragged breathing almost seeming to harmonize.

Uruha was moving in a rapid, steady rhythm now, Kai raising his hips to meet every thrust. His nails scraped over Uruha’s back, the shock of pain spiking the pleasure and making the director moan loudly, thrusting even harder, trying to hit that spot he’d been stroking with his fingers before . . .

When he did, the result was explosive. Kai arched his hips upward, letting out a sharp cry, shuddering, at the very edge of orgasm, feeling like a stretched-taut bow . . . The next thrust sent him all the way over the edge, crying out loudly as the come poured from him and onto both their bodies.

Ururha felt that sheath gripping at him, and he was flooded with an explosion of delicious heat, crying out, burying his face in Kai’s shoulder as he trembled.

When they fell back to the mattress, clinging to each other and kissing, Uruha felt dazed and lazy and content, and most of all, flooded with warm emotion.

“I love you,” he murmured to Kai. “I love you so much . . .”

“I love you, too,” Kai said. “More than words can say.”

Uruha snuggled against his lover, holding him close. He was just going to revel in this for as long as he could, far away from reality . . .

Except that reality came sneaking back, little by little. Bits and pieces of the phone conversation came streaming back, the knowledge of what Etienne St. Jacques was doing, what he’d done in the past . . .

And Uruha knew what he was going to do – what he had to do.

Still mussed up and sweaty, Uruha fumbled on the bed for his phone. “Sparxxx!” he said aloud.

“Hmmm?” Kai raised his head.

“I still need to get in touch with Sparxxx,” he said. “Then, he can get in touch with other people – and I can have a weapon to use against that bastard.”

“Uruha,” Kai said, softly, “you don’t have to . . .”

“Somebody has to,” Uruha said. “This son of a bitch has gotten away with it long enough. No more.”

He just hoped his plan was going to pan out. If it did, Etienne St. Jacques would be taken down the few hundred notches he needed to be. 

* * *

Uruha felt a bit like a video game character waiting for the boss battle at the end as he stood on what was supposed to be the orgy set.

He’d had a very enlightening talk with Sparxxx – and with the blogger’s friend, a mainstream film blogger who went by the handle FilmBug. “Oh, God, there’s been rumors about Etienne St. Jacques forever,” FilmBig said. “He’s been accused of all sorts of plagiarism, but nobody could prove it. And he’s a bastard, too. I’ll bet he saw your actors – and B.B.Bixxx’s, too – as subhuman because they work in the sex industry. Everything he told you about them being great porn stars? All a crock to get you to work for him.”

He watched the crew members start to filter in, setting up equipment, waiting for their orders. Little did they know their day wasn’t going to go as planned. He glanced off into the shadows, looking to see if a certain person was there.

Uruha’s jaw tightened when he heard the heavy footfall of the approaching director. He took a deep breath and clenched his fist. It was showtime.

Etienne St. Jacques approached him, a none-too-pleased look on his face. When he spoke, his interpreter actually looked reluctant to translate. “Do your actors not know that a call means you have to be on the set?” he said. “I don’t see a single one of them.”

“That’s because I asked them not to come,” Uruha said – and was satisfied by the thunderstruck look on the other director’s face as soon as the translator relayed the message.

He did not need a translation for St. Jacques’ next words: “You WHAT?” He prattled on after that, and interpreter said, “He asked if you realize he’s a busy man who does not have the rest of his life to finish this movie.”

“So that’s why you got me to do it? And B.B. Bixxx? And all your so-called consultants from the other films? Because getting someone else to do your work is quicker than doing it yourself?”

The interpreter looked shocked. “Uruha-san, I cannot tell him that!”

“Well, it’s a good thing I brought my own interpreter then, isn’t it?” He motioned to a hip-looking young man with dyed white-blonde hair and a leather jacket – the person who had been hiding in the shadows. “This is Hiragashi Keiji – better known online as FilmBug. He’s fluent in English, which I believe St. Jacques-san speaks, since he works so much with people in Hollywood.”

“Hello!” The other man bowed, and then relayed what Uruha had said in English – at which point St. Jacques looked thunderstuck and started yelling in French.

His regular interpreter looked like he was going to crawl under a rug, but he answered, meekly, “St. Jacques-san has no idea what you are talking about.”

“He doesn’t?” Uruha said. “Maybe he would like to hear about the very enlightening conversation I had with B.B. Bixxx – all about how he duped him into filming all the straight and lesbian sex scenes for this movie. And about the people who ended up writing and directing other films for him.”

FilmBug calmly relayed Uruha’s words in English – and the French director exploded. He saw the other interpreter’s face turn flat-out pale, though, and he suddenly became worried about the translation. 

“I . . . I really don’t want to tell you everything he said,” he said to Uruha. “It’s better you not know.”

“Try me,” Uruha said. “I know he accused me and B.B. Bixxx of lying.”

“It’s worse than that,” the interpreter said. “He . . .” The man glanced around. “He said he doesn’t have to take this from a couple of wranglers of glorified prostitutes.”

“That bastard,” FilmBug mumbled – but Uruha was already storming over to the French director, not even caring about the language barrier.

“Glorified prostitutes?” he said. “Glorified PROSTITUTES? My actors are ACTORS. They have a very specific specialty, but they’re still actors. If you think so little of them, why did you want them in your film? Because it makes you look edgy and hip and cool to do a mainstream sex film? Because it makes you look even more than ever like the director who can do anything? Let me tell you something – you don’t do SHIT except get other people to do your work! You’re so big on being The Seven Deadly Sins guy? I’ll tell you one thing – the two sins you’re most guilty of are Pride and Sloth, and when you put them together, you have an asshole!”

He stepped back, breathing heavily. FilmBug applauded him before translating, his voice as calm as Uruha’s had been enraged.

St. Jacques yelled something, and the interpreter said, “He’s asking if the agreement with you and PSC productions is finished, because if it is, you have wasted his time and money.”

“It’s not over,” Uruha said. “We’re going to finish what we started – but not for your sake. For theirs. Two of my actors are counting on the money from this film to be able to afford their first real home together. Another one is counting on the exposure to help his club DJ career. So you will get your orgy fantasy scene – but it will be on my terms.”

When the translation was relayed, Uruha was just waiting for St. Jacques to ask why he had to agree to Uruha’s terms. He just nodded to his translator and let him take it from there. He knew what FilmBug was going to say – they’d discussed it beforehand.

“Mr. St. Jacques,” the blogger told the man in English, “as you may know, those in the adult video industry are very good at working social media – sometimes better than those on the mainstream side of the entertainment industry. What we discussed here could very well end up in the Twittersphere very quickly. Uruha has a lot of well-placed contacts.”

The director looked a bit worried – but he said, “That’s just in the Japanese-speaking world, though. It wouldn’t get beyond this country.”

“That’s where I come in,” FilmBug said. “In addition to my Japanese-language site, I also happen to be the Asian correspondent for . . .” He named a world-famous entertainment industry site that had more reach and influence than most mainstream news outlets. “I could have this story out there in two minutes – and given the reputation of that site, I don’t think it will be dismissed as mere Hollywood whining.”

“I’ll sue if you do,” the French director said. “My cousin is a very powerful lawyer.”

“And if we have B.B. Bixxx on the record saying what you did? If we recorded the conversation?” Which was a bluff – Uruha didn’t record it, he didn’t have the other man’s permission. “If Mr. Bixxx has recordings from the other people you worked with? They could be made public, and you wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.”

There was a pause, and finally, St. Jacques said, “What are Uruha’s terms?”

FilmBug walked over to Uruha, giving him the thumbs up. “He wants your terms,” he said.

“First, that he just let me do the scene with my actors completely my way. Second, that I get a Tokyo unit director credit in the finished film. Third, that B.B. Bixxx get a European unit director credit. Fourth, that my actors are paid accordingly – like ACTORS, not prostitutes. And fifth, that all the people who rewrote your scripts and directed scenes get proper writer and unit director credits on future video releases of the Deadly Sins series.”

When FilmBug relayed what Uruha had said, the French director walked away for a moment . . . then came back, waving a hand dismissively. He barked something, and his interpreter said, “You will get what you want. But if one word of this gets out to the public, he will see to it that PSC Productions, Bixxxworks and both movie blogs are shut down.”

“Fine,” Uruha said. “We won’t breathe a syllable of it.”

St. Jacques walked away, muttering to himself. Uruha turned to his interpreter. “What did he say?”

“He said you’re too damn smart to be in the business you’re in,” the interpreter said.

“I’m going to consider it a compliment,” Uruha said. Turning to the blogger, he said, “Thank you. Thank you SO much. I wish I could offer you exclusive on-set access for this, but you don’t cover my industry.”

“It’s okay,” FilmBug said. “Just taking him down a few pegs is reward enough. Though I wouldn’t mind doing a positive piece on what you do – so people can see you’re not glorified prostitutes.”

Uruha groaned. “So much for his rainbow of passion,” he said. He got out his phone. “Okay, I need to summon my troops. Thank you so much again.” He pulled up a number on speed dial. “Reita? Round up the guys and have them come in, we’re going to shoot a scene. I’ll give you more details later, but the bottom line is the war is over, and our side won.”

He hung up the phone and strolled onto the bedroom set, to have the crew get it ready. He was actually going to be the true director of this scene, having a whole army of crew members and big Panavision cameras to command. It would be a glimpse of what his life would be, could be, on the other side of the industry.

Maybe it might still be that way, someday. But for now, he wouldn’t trade what he had for the world.

* * *

Uruha sat in the back of the cab, dressed in party-appropriate clothes – mostly black, with a jacket he’d bought in Harajuku just this morning for the occasion. Kai was sitting next to him, similarly dressed.

“FilmBug got in touch with me before,” Uruha said. “He wanted to know if I was going to the wrap party tonight.”

“I can’t believe that bastard actually had a wrap party,” Kai said. “And he’s just now wrapping up? Didn’t we finish our part of it two weeks ago?”

“He had to shoot dialogue with his leading lady and other actors outdoors in Tokyo,” Uruha said, adding, dryly, “At least THAT part of it he can handle himself.”

“Do you think anyone’s going to ever know the truth about that guy?” Kai said.

“Sparxxx and FilmBug said that stuff has already started leaking out,” Uruha said. “It’s in the back alleys of social media right now – in private conversations and personal messages. And eventually, it may make its way into the mainstream Twittersphere. It’s then up to the public whether they take it seriously. But he’s not going to be able to blame me for it. I’m keeping my word – I’m not breathing a word of it to anyone.” After a pause, he said, “He’s not worth breaking my word for.”

“Did anyone from his office invite you?” Kai said.

“Yes. Mostly to keep up appearances before the public. And I politely declined. I said I have somewhere more pressing to be tonight. Which isn’t a lie.”

The car pulled up in front of their destination – an apartment building just a couple of doors down from the one where Byou and Jin were currently living. Kai and Uruha got out and went over to the elevator.

“They finally have an elevator,” Uruha said, pressing the button. “They were actually excited about that.”

They rode up four floors and got off. There was no mistaking which apartment they were going to – they could hear the music almost instantly.

“They’re going to have to turn that down later,” Uruha said. “They can’t make a bad impression on the new neighbors.”

The door opened as soon as Uruha knocked. “Hi!” Yo-ka said. “Come on in! There’s still room for some more people.”

Uruha walked into the new apartment and looked around. “Oh, wow,” he said. “This is nice.”

“It’s three times the size of our old place,” Yo-ka said. “Three times! And you have to come in and see the bed. It’s incredible.” He pulled Kai and Uruha across the room, past clusters of people from both PSC Productions and Eros.

They paused in the doorway of the bedroom. “Oh, wow,” Kai said, his eyes sweeping over the king-sized beauty covered in a black satin coverlet – and with straps attached to handcuffs wrapped around both bedposts. “We could use that as a set for a video!”

“What’s with the boxes?” Uruha was looking at a low shelf running along the wall by the bed, which had a series of makeup-like cases.

“Our toy boxes,” Yo-ka said. “We don’t have to keep them in the closet anymore! We don’t have to get out and set up bedding anymore! We have a bed whenever we want it.”

“It’s perfect,” Uruha said. “Especially for you.” Indeed, it looked like the perfect bed for today’s kinky, polyamorous couple on the go.

“He said he did the film so he could buy me this bed once we had this apartment,” Yo-ka said, softly. “Can you believe that? He sold out to buy me this bed – because I mean so much to him.” There was a gentle look in his eyes.

“And you did the film because he did?” Uruha said. He knew they wanted to get extra money for the apartment – but he didn’t know about the other things they wanted to buy for each other.

“No,” said Yo-ka. “I did it because there was something I wanted to do for him, too. Come here.”

He led Kai and Uruha back into the living room – where Yuuki was sitting on the couch, an armful of purring fur in his arms.

“Oh, hi!” he said. “This is Kuro. He came home with me about a week ago. Isn’t he beautiful?”

“He is.” Uruha leaned over to get a good look at the cat – who leaned over and tried to press his nose to the director’s. “Where did he come from?”

“The pet shop near Eros’ headquarters,” Yuuki said. “I used to walk past and see Kuro every day, but I couldn’t afford to take care of a cat before. We didn’t have the room, anyway. But now?” He cuddled the cat. “We have a new member of our family.”

Uruha looked at Yo-ka – who nodded in confirmation. This was what Yo-ka did the film for.

Across the room, a group of people were gathered around Aoi, who had a computer open in front of him. “I’m gonna make sure everyone sees this footage,” he said. “I’m gonna put it on one of those big billboards in Shibuya!”

“What footage?” Uruha said, walking over to him.

“Kazuki’s DJ scene,” Aoi said. “One of the cameramen slipped me a copy. I’m gonna send it to every club in town so they know what he can do! And I’ll turn on the charm while I’m at it. Nobody can say no to a superstar like me!” And then, he leaned over and whispered to Uruha, “Although, in this footage? Kazuki is as much of a superstar as I am.”

“I’m sure he is,” Uruha said, feeling rather amused. This was the closest Aoi would ever come to humble – and he wouldn’t do it for just anyone.

“That’s the whole reason I did that damn film, you know,” Aoi said. “So Kazuki could deejay in it. I wouldn’t be caught dead in something like that otherwise.” He looked down at the machine again. “Not too many things are worth selling out like that, you know?”

“I know,” Uruha said, smiling softly. “I’ll be right back – I’m getting a drink.”

As he made his way to the kitchen, Kai followed. “You look thoughtful,” Kai said.

“Remember that line of bullshit that asshole gave us when we started – about him wanting to capture the beauty of male-male love?” said Uruha. “Just another ploy to get me to do his work for him?”

“Oh, yes,” Kai said.

“Little did he know that’s what his film was all about,” Uruha said. “Yo-ka and Yuuki selling out to make each other happy, Aoi doing the film just to give Kazuki a break as a deejay . . . that’s the beauty of male-male love in action. He captured it on film without intending to.”

“No,” Kai said. “YOU captured it on film, and you made it shine. Because you have as much love in your heart as they do. That’s something that someone like him can never understand.”

Uruha squeezed Kai’s hand. “I wouldn’t be able to make the love shine without you to share my love with,” he said.

He was feeling strangely happy and content about the whole incident. It ended well – everyone who participated got what they wanted. The jerk director got put in his place. And hey, Uruha had gotten to work with a full-size crew and Panavision cameras – a dream if there ever was one.

He wouldn’t trade his reality with Kai for all the dreams in the world, though. And that was the real beauty of male-male love.


End file.
